A Walk Through Hell
by IShouldBeHome
Summary: Set in the past when segregation was still the norm and integration in the schools we just beginning, Sam admits his feelings for Mercedes, and even when knowing the consequences they could face, she doesn't push him away.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! I probably should not be starting a new fic, but this is a prompt I got that easily turned into something that should be continued, and I got inspired, so why not? I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

><p>"Nobody asked you to come to this school and cause all this trouble!"<p>

"Trust me, I had a choice this school would be last on the list! I find it insane that you think I'd actually enjoy being around hateful, ignorant white folks!"

Sam and Mercedes stared each other down, chests heaving. They were in an empty classroom, as they'd been told to come there after school for detention. Her, for telling off another boy in class, and him for arriving twenty minutes late. Ms. Corcoran didn't care about skin color; she cared about rules and grammar. You break the rules, you get detention. She'd been monitoring them, but excused herself to go to the restroom. It didn't take long for the two kids to be at each other's throats.

"I aint ignorant!" he yelled.

"Yeah you are! You all are! You're all mean as hell, and for what? The color of my skin? You're weak and ignorant," she spat. Sam was seething. Yeah, he joined in on the teasing and jeering, especially when it came to Mercedes. Secretly, it had nothing to do with her being colored. He was just trying to cover up the fact that he thought she was pretty.

"You think I don't catch you staring at me during class? I'm not a zoo animal!" she continued. "You all should go find some and leave me the hell alone!"

"Then leave!" he yelled.

"Oh trust me, baby, I wish I could! But sadly they save all the good education for the precious white kids, and my parents won't let me out of this opportunity. So you're stuck with me."

"Unfortunately!" That's all he could come up with, but it was enough in his mind. His façade was dissolving however, because she looked beautiful when she was pissed.

"Go to hell," she shot back.

"You first."

She opened her mouth to speak again, but was abruptly cut off by his lips against hers. She didn't kiss back, and he pulled away, beet red and breathing heavily.

"What the hell…?" Sam closed his eyes. He was fucked. "Is _that _why you pick on me?"

"I…whatever! Drop it," he said, folding his arms.

"No, no, no, we're not dropping it. You just stole my first kiss and you want to drop it? Okay wait, so you act like a racist asshole because you_ like_ me? Are you _five_?"

"That was your first kiss?" She put her hands on her hips and stared at him.

"That's what you got out of that?"

The conversation was cut short when Ms. Corcoran returned and told them to get back to their seats. Mercedes stared at the desk, committing the carvings to memory, and Sam stared at _her_, committing her profile to memory. He kept trying to direct his attention elsewhere, like the window or the front of the classroom, but his gaze always found its way to her. He was always staring, and when she'd catch him doing it in class, he'd pretend he was glaring and flip her off, getting praise from his friends for doing it. "_Put her in her place, Sammy_," they'd say.

The timer on Ms. Corcoran's desk went off, signaling the end of detention. Mercedes rose immediately, grabbed her books and booked it out of the classroom. Sam picked up his bag and ran after her. She was surprisingly fast and he hadn't caught up to her until they were out of the school and she was fast-walking down the side-walk.

"Hey!" he called after her, jogging up.

"What." She slowed, but didn't stop walking and he fell into step next to her.

"I don't know," he said after a few seconds. He'd caught up to her but didn't think it through.

"Wanna talk about how you kissed me because you secretly like me and tell me to keep my mouth shut so your friends don't find out?"

"No! Well the first part…maybe the second part, I don't know…" She stopped and faced him with her hand on her hip.

"Whatever you need to say, spit it out. You had a lapse of judgment? I'm pretty for a colored girl? I should be_ glad _you kissed me? Erase it from my memory or else?" She was glaring at him.

"Wow," was all he got out.

"What?"

"Nothing…you just really think I'm an asshole," he said, kind of surprised at how she portrayed him, though he knew he shouldn't have been.

"Of course I think you're an asshole," she replied, saying it like the grass was green and pigeons flew. He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You're right. Being mean to you because I like you is immature, but I don't know what to do when other people are around. And I didn't really have a lapse of judgment, I just…the conversation was heated and I got riled up…" he said. She raised an eyebrow. "And anyway, yeah, you _are_ pretty. Period. And you don't have to erase it from your memory. I actually was hoping you'd like it…"

"Why would I have liked it? Why would I like _you_?"

"I deserve that."

"You're damn straight you deserve it," she said, folding her arms. His hands still in his pockets, he looked at her and rocked back on the balls of his heels.

"So can I kiss you again?"

Her resolve was shaken a little by the question. For a split second, Sam saw the determined, pissed off girl in front of him change. Something in her eyes was different; they were softer.

"No."

"Why not?"

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't like you?" she asked, releasing a frustrated huff.

"I don't know. I'm not that smart, so people have to repeat things a lot before I really get them," he said simply. Her glare was fixed on him, but the corner of her mouth twitched slightly in the suggestion of a smile. He took a step forward on the sidewalk and she took a step back. He did it again and she repeated the action. They continued this until she was off the sidewalk and against a tree. His face was inches from hers and she could feel his slow, steady breaths. She suddenly looked left, right, and behind him, afraid someone would walk by.

"No one's around," he said, sensing her worry.

"You can't be sure of that," she responded, her voice about ten times quieter than before. Her whole demeanor had changed with him this close to her.

"Fine," he said, backing up. She let out a sigh of relief. Hours ago, she would have sworn she hated this kid, but with him as close as he'd been, she was actually_ seeing_ him and the pull she felt bothered her. She thought all white boys looked the same, and she'd never really been attracted to one, but right now, looking at Sam's magnetic green eyes, dirty blond hair, abnormally large lips, and arms showing out of the rolled up sleeves of his button down, she needed to shut her legs.

When he said 'Fine', she misinterpreted it as a retreat, but was corrected when he grabbed her hand and pulled her past the tree and behind the school. If she'd been in her right mind, she would have pushed him away and ran off, but she was simply letting him lead her into the woods behind the football field. When they were a good distance inside, he stopped and turned to her, cornering her on yet another tree.

"There. No one's gonna walk by now," he said. His voice at the moment was another thing to check off the brand new list of ways Sam Evans made her knees weak.

"Squirrels…" she said. She shut her eyes and chastised herself. Really Mercedes? Squirrels?

"They don't mind," he replied.

"Sam…" His lips were on hers before she could complete the thought. He cupped her face and licked her lips, prompting her to let his tongue enter her mouth. She opened up right away and he gently tilted her head for a better angle, pressing up against her so there were no gaps between him, her or the tree. Her books fell from her arms and plopped onto the soft soil next to them, but it didn't distract them, as they were busy exploring each other with their tongues. Sam had been wanting to do this since he first saw her being escorted into the school, his friends around him throwing racial slurs and telling her to go back to wherever she came from.

He was never sure what his type was. He dated girls, but only because they asked and it was what the quarterback was _supposed_ to do, it seemed. But he'd never laid eyes on a girl like he did Mercedes that day and had her make his insides feel like they were pirouetting. Now, in these woods, against this tree, he felt like he was on fire, but in a good way, if that made sense.

He pulled away, his lips still ghosting over hers and drifted his gaze from her mouth to her eyes, where she was simply staring back. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and continued to stare at her. Instead of feeling uncomfortable like she always did when she saw his stare, Mercedes felt oddly relaxed.

"I should get home," she said finally. She was already late, and living in Tennessee, her parents couldn't help but worry when she didn't come straight home from school. The things colored folks had to be afraid of in the South could fill about ten encyclopedias. She knew that even if she wasn't beaten in a ditch somewhere, had they discovered her in the woods being kissed on by a white boy, they'd never let her leave the house.

"Okay," he said, stepping back. He bent down and gathered her books off the ground and handed them to her after wiping any excess dirt off of them. She smiled appreciatively and took them before walking in the direction that led back to the school.

"Can I see you again?" he said, loud enough for her to hear him as the distance between them grew. "Maybe…meet me here tomorrow?"

She turned around and looked at him, considering it.

"My parents want me straight home after school," she replied. He bit his lip then spoke again.

"During lunch?" She considered it. She ate alone and no one cared where she was then.

"Okay."

"Okay," he smiled. "Right here?"

She nodded and turned back around to head home, her cheeks warm the entire time.


	2. Chapter 2

**For some reason this was a serious hassle to get up, but here's chapter two! Hope you enjoy, and forgive any glaring mistakes I may have missed.**

* * *

><p>Mercedes pulled the brown paper bag that held her lunch out of her locker. She never bought lunch, because that required going to the cafeteria and dealing with open ridicule from the worst kind of people. Lunch was generally unsupervised and being colored, she would walk in that place with a target on her back. She always ate in the school's auditorium, hidden backstage, but today she'd be eating somewhere different: in the woods.<p>

She walked quickly through the now emptied halls and snuck out a back door. She hurried past the football field and into the cluster of trees she'd only been in the day before. She walked in a straight line, looking around, and when she saw a blonde head moving back and forth, she ran up to find him pacing by a blanket on the ground.

She cleared her throat.

"Mercedes," he said, looking up and instantly smiling. It was different seeing him react this way to her, but she figured she could definitely get used to it. His smile was something else.

"Yeah, hi," she said, suddenly nervous. He held his hand out to her and she took it, sitting down with him on the blanket.

"I was kind of worried you weren't gonna come," he admitted. She set her brown bag on the blanket and opened it up.

"I said I was going to, didn't I?" He just smiled and nodded. She took a bite of her sandwich and crossed her legs under her dress. She glanced at him and saw he was eating a sandwich too. They both ate in a calm silence, and when they finished, they just looked at each other.

"We should talk, shouldn't we?"

"Yeah, we should," she said, looking at her hands.

"I like you," he said. She blushed.

"Well, we_ know_ that." He crawled across the blanket to sit next to her.

"Do you like me?" He'd leaned over so his lips were centimeters away from her ear. The feeling made her breath hitch. She scooted away a little, but it didn't matter because he only scooted closer.

"I…" By the way she kissed him back the day before, Sam already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear her say it. She sighed. "Yes. I like you. But that doesn't matter."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because we can't…act on it," she told him.

"We acted on it yesterday…" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Right. But we can't do that again," she replied, finally making eye contact with him.

"Why can't we, Mercedes?" he asked, reaching up and touching her jaw as if preparing to kiss her. She almost caved, but came back to her senses. She pulled away and stood, while he sat there looking up at her, his expression a mixture of shock and disappointment.

"We can't because I'm colored, and you're as white as the driven snow," she said. He shook his head and stood as well.

"That doesn't matter to me," he said.

"That's great, but it matters to everyone else."

"Why do we have to care what everyone else thinks?" he asked.

"Of course you don't care, Sam!" she yelled. He recoiled a bit at her outburst. "You don't have to care because you don't have to be afraid of anything, while I on the other hand have to watch what I say, who I speak to, where I go, and what I do in fear of being arrested, beaten up, or hanging from a goddamn tree!" She got choked up and paused to try and collect herself. He stared at her, no idea what to say. "It's not the same. It'll never be the same, okay? People see me with you; they'll think I'm tryna cause trouble. It's like I'll have a big sign on my head. You don't care what others think, because bad things won't happen to you, thanks to White privilege."

He was silent for several moments, and his eyes burned. It was rough hearing her say those things, because they were true, and he couldn't do anything to fix them.

"I can't…change how I was born…" he managed to say. She released a humorless laugh.

"Yeah, well unfortunately neither can I. But what I can do is try my hardest to be as invisible as I can, and being with you is going to have the exact opposite effect," she said.

"But I _really_ like you," he told her.

"Stop saying that."

"I do!"

"Are you a glutton for negative attention? Do you know what people would call you after they're done with me?" He looked down. He knew. "A nig—

"Don't say it," he said, cutting her off. People down there used that word as often as any other, but it had always rubbed him the wrong way. His friends said it regularly, often times referring to Mercedes, and he always had to hide his distaste. Even when he would poke and jeer at her in the hallway, he _never_ used that word. It was…ugly.

"Mercedes…now that I know you feel the same way, I don't think I can let this go," he said honestly.

"This is a nightmare," she said, sitting back down onto the blanket.

"Am I a nightmare?"

"You were," she said referring to his earlier behavior towards her.

"What am I now?" he asked.

"Surprisingly…decent. This _situation_ is a nightmare. Why can't you be a normal white All-American quarterback and go after a blonde cheerleader?"

"I guess that would be easier. But it's not me, I guess," he said, sitting next to her again. She looked at him, and before she could formulate a response, his lips were on hers.

"You have to stop interrupting me," she said when they parted. He licked his lips and blushed.

"Sorry." He didn't back off though. He just looked in her eyes and kept his hand on her face, stroking her cheek. "So we can't be together because I'm white. Okay. What if nobody sees us? I'm okay with keeping it a secret. At least until things get better."

"Things aren't gonna get better," she mumbled.

"They are. I mean, I know it's not my place to say, but I feel like they are. People will get smarter. It's already starting, since you came to my school. Last year it wasn't even allowed," he said, smiling.

She didn't think the hate would stop or that anyone would really change, but hearing him be so optimistic warmed her heart. He was adorable.

"You're adorable."

"I'm serious." He kissed her again, this time gently pushing her back onto the blanket and moving on top of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his hand settled on her thigh as their tongues twirled and lips moved against each other. He moved his hand higher to her hip, afraid of treading into dangerous territory since he found out she'd never even been kissed before him, and she was grateful. Slightly aroused, but grateful he didn't push it.

"Okay, we'll keep it a secret," she confirmed when they separated briefly.

* * *

><p>"I swear to God, I may have to get the porch cleaned by professionals," Mrs. Evans said, setting the last of dinner on the table. Sam had been in and out.<p>

"At least he was wearing shoes," Mr. Evans told her, taking a swig of beer.

"I'm sorry, what happened?" Sam asked, lost.

"There was a little…colored boy at our front door trying to sell papers," the blonde woman told her son. She'd paused mid-sentence to stop herself from using the word her son hated. She may have had revulsion for Blacks that she made clear, but she also noticed how her son would wince whenever she called them that. It was small, and most wouldn't see it, but she knew her son.

"What!" Sam straightened. Stevie and Stacey momentarily stopped putting food on their plates to look at their brother.

"I know! It's a travesty. The little…thing was just standing there holding out papers. He was insane if he thought anyone would_ touch _those things when he had his hands all over them." Sam was barely listening to his mother rant.

"Wait, someone had that kid trying to sell papers in _this_ neighborhood? Are they trying to get him killed?" His parents just looked at him until his mother spoke again.

"Well I don't know about any of that, I just know we need a clean porch."

* * *

><p>"Chris, eat your greens," Mrs. Jones said. Mercedes was staring ahead, absently pushing her mashed potatoes around.<p>

"But Mama, they're nasty," the twelve year old said, pouting. Mrs. Jones simply gave her son a look. He looked down and began eating the greens with a scowl.

"How was school today, Mercedes?" Mr. Jones asked. She'd been in another world and jumped when she heard her name.

"Huh? Oh, it was uneventful."

"Uneventful? Really?" her mother asked, looking hopeful. Uneventful meant their daughter didn't have things thrown at her. It also meant she went a whole day without being the center of attention in a bad way.

"I mean, sort of. Just the regular jerks," Mercedes said. She chose to say uneventful so they wouldn't suspect she skipped the second half of her classes to be with Sam.

"Oh," the older woman said with a sigh.

"How are your grades?" her father asked.

"All A's, Daddy." He beamed at his daughter, loving to hear that she was doing well. He was almost over the panic of hearing she'd received detention, but was happy she stood up for herself. His son being in college and his daughter being close to it were the only things besides his wife that really made him happy. He hoped Chris was on the same path. He only wanted the best for his children, and that was hard enough in this country. The idea they'd be able to make something of themselves almost brought tears to his eyes.

"That's what I like to hear," he told her. Mercedes just smiled and put some potatoes in her mouth, trying to rid her thoughts of a certain blond that kept threatening to invade them.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Beautiful." Sam was leaning against a tree with his hands in his pockets, his blue button down undone to reveal his undershirt. She bit her lip and walked closer.<p>

"We can't skip class this time," she told him.

"I understand," he said, nodding. "But what are you doing after school Friday?"

"I'm going to my friend's house."

"Saturday?"

"Nothing…" He grinned.

"Great. So you can spend the day with me," he said.

"What…?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"If we're going to try this, you can't expect me to be satisfied with just thirty minutes every day." Sam pushed off the tree and went to wrap his arms around her. "Our parents won't find out, we'll just make up something."

"My parents aren't just gonna go for anything, Sam," she said. He bit his lip.

"I know, but we'll come up with something," he said, kissing the crook of her neck and causing her to shiver.

"We…we will?" She shivered and sucked in her bottom lip.

"We will. But as for right now…" He tightened his grip and placed more kisses around the spot before settling on a particular area and sucking.

"Sam…" His hands slid down to cup her ass and squeezed.

"Sam!" she exclaimed. He pulled away, giving her a sheepish grin.

"Too fast?"


	3. Chapter 3

**I think the main reason I had so much trouble updating this is because I'm trying to stall from the angst. But I can only do it for so long (like a couple more chapters). Anyway, hope you enjoy! Sorry for any mistakes I missed.**

* * *

><p>Sam lay in his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He could hear Stacey and Stevie running around outside his door and he closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound. He just got out of the shower and felt drained from the night's dinner conversation. Mom had the porch cleaned, so she was happy about that, but now she was complaining about some Negro who'd hesitated too long to move when she needed a seat on the bus home. Apparently it was an old lady, but she didn't care. She went on about it for an hour, and now he was happy to be alone.<p>

If the circumstances were normal, he'd be able to call the girl he considered to be his girlfriend on the phone and complain about his parents and ask how her night was going and talk for hours like they did when they were together in the forest. But circumstances weren't normal, and he couldn't just_ call_ her and risk her parents answering the phone. Or could he?

He sat up and looked around searching for his pajama pants. He spotted them thrown over his desk chair, walked over and pulled them on. He then opened his bedroom door to see that his little siblings weren't running around anymore and crept downstairs to the den. He was pretty sure everyone was upstairs, so he'd be fine. He sat at his father's desk and grabbed the phone, dialing the number he memorized as soon as she told him. She told him never to call her, but to have it in case he one day _really_ needed someone and she'd be there for him. He waited as it rang, and when she answered, he let out a sigh of relief.

"Who is this?" she asked when he didn't respond.

"It's me," he said, biting his lip. He heard her gasp and there was shuffling before she said anything else.

"What's going on? Is everything okay? Is someone dead?" she asked.

"No! No…I just wanted to talk to you."

"What?"

"I wanted to hear your voice," he said.

"I told you never to call me!" she whispered harshly.

"I know, I know and I wasn't going to, but…wait, where are you?" He heard her move around a lot.

"I'm…in a closet," she responded. She sat on the floor of it with her legs crossed and the telephone in her lap and the cord squeezed in the closed door.

"Oh," he said. He would have asked why, but he knew the answer.

"Why on Earth would you call me, Sam? Are you looking for trouble?"

"I think we already established that."

She sighed and rubbed her temple.

"I have to break up with you," she said.

"What? No! I'm sorry! I'll hang up!" She couldn't help but smile a little.

"Sam…I have to break up with you if you're going to be reckless like this. You can afford to maybe, but I can't. What if my parents had picked up? What if your parents are listening now and they can tell I'm colored from my voice?" she asked.

"There's no phone upstairs, so they're not," he told her.

"That's not the point. It's like you're not trying here."

"I just want to talk to my girlfriend."

"So I'm officially your girlfriend?"

"You were my girlfriend in my head as soon as you kissed me back," he said. She smiled.

"That's…great, but you can't do all the things you'd normally do with me. It's not easy like that. And that stinks, but you chose this. And so did I, but I'm not the one making calls here," she replied.

"I know. Okay, I won't call you again," he said.

"Thank you. You're seeing me tomorrow, remember? Santana's going to cover for me," she told him, smiling at the thought of actually spending the day with him.

"I can't wait," he said, leaning back in the chair and playing with the cord. "You may lose your virginity, so wear something comfortable."

"Sam!"

"I'm kidding. Unless…"

"Goodbye."

"Bye Mercedes," he said, hanging up and biting his lip.

He sat up straight when he heard his father coming down the stairs and smiled when he turned the corner into the den.

"What are you doing in here?" Mr. Evans asked, raising an eyebrow. Then he noticed the phone pulled into his lap. "Who were you on the phone with?"

Sam was a bad liar. Always had been. So now, looking his father in the eye, he knew that if he tried to lie it would backfire, making him suspicious, which was the last thing he needed. Besides, he could be a little honest; there was only one part he'd have to leave out.

"Um, a girl."

"A girl, huh?" his dad asked, grinning and leaning on the doorframe. "Are you back with Miss Fabray?"

"Um, no."

"Oh, so this is a new girl. Congrats, son. Maybe this time she'll be smart and see what a catch you are, eh?" Sam smiled and nodded.

"I think she's real special."

* * *

><p>Sam drove for a long time, occasionally looking down at Mercedes. The passenger seat was pushed back as far as it would go, and she was on the floor. Whenever he would steal a glance at her, he'd find her already staring.<p>

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. Where are we going?" she asked.

"Somewhere we can be alone. Don't worry; you can get up in about five minutes. I'll be off the main road and no one's ever around this area."

"Don't I get a last request?"

"Will you stop? I'm not going to kill you."

"Seems pretty suspicious," she said, even though she was smiling at him.

"It's better than the diner or somewhere like that," he replied. She sighed and leaned against the door, knowing he was right. They'd go there if she actually wanted to be killed. No joking about it. She started thinking about it and her expression quickly turned sad. He looked again and noticed this.

"Hey. We're not gonna talk about all that. This is me and you, going to spend time together somewhere we can escape that evil. Come sit up here," he said, turning onto a dirt road. She hesitated before climbing up into the passenger seat.

"Wow," she murmured, looking at the trees lining the road and reaching up above them, nearly blocking the sky.

"Yeah, it's somethin'."

Soon he drove off of the road and stopped in front of a small lake. It was surrounded by trees and deserted. She got out and went by the water, just taking in the environment. She heard him moving around behind her and turned to find him laying out a blanket by the car.

"Since everyone always goes to the diner when they start going steady, I thought I could bring the diner somewhere else," he said, taking several white paper bags out of the backseat and a couple styrofoam cups he was grateful didn't spill. "So I present to you, Mercedes Jones, burgers and Cokes."

She laughed and shook her head, walking over to him. He was spreading it out over the blanket. He even brought condiments for the fries.

"I don't really know what to say," she said when he finished and smiled up at her.

"Well sit down first so I can romance you," he replied.

They ate in silence. The burgers were still warm and delicious, but she started to feel self-conscious eating hers because his eyes were glued on her, even as he ate his own.

"It's weird with you staring at me," she said. His gaze didn't falter at all.

"Want me to stop?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

"Sorry, no. You're too pretty."

"Charming," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Honestly, though. Especially out here. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen." He was still staring, and he'd finished his food.

"You should get your eyes checked. Ask someone like your mom how pretty I am," she told him, putting the rest of her food in a bag.

"My mom needs her_ brain_ checked," he responded. She smiled, afraid to agree with him. That _was_ his mother.

"Did you bring dessert?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Of course," he said, crawling over to her. She raised an eyebrow and he took her hand in his before leaning in and capturing her bottom lip and sucking. She was surprised, but it didn't stop her from pushing his chin up and participating in the kiss. He pulled away and she almost whimpered.

"What time do you have to be home?" he asked.

"Nine." She caught herself staring at his lips, even as he spoke.

"That gives us two hours to kill. Gee, what do we—"

He was cut off by her lips back on his and her hand grasping the back of his neck. This Mercedes who took control of the situation was new to him and may have not been a good thing. It was doing things to him. She leaned back and he followed her until she was pressed against the blanket. His hand rested on her waist and his tongue moved across her lip. She'd never French kissed, but she instinctively opened her mouth for him. His hand moved upward, eventually resting on one of her breasts. She didn't tense or push him off and he thanked whatever God there was for that.

"You're so soft," he said, moving his lips to her neck. Her fingers went to his hair, and he knew he was done for.

"What…" she started, sitting up. He moved off of her and turned red, already knowing what the problem was.

"Sorry…it just happened…"

"Oh," she said, averting her eyes from the thing she'd felt against her thigh moments ago.

"Did I ruin this? I'm sorry, I just…"

"It's alright." She looked him in the eye and smiled, but it faded quickly and was replaced with blush and lip bite. "Do you think I could see it? I've never seen one not in a book." His eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

"You want to…are you sure?"

"Yes. For future reference." He blushed and nodded, unbuckling his belt then unbuttoning his pants. He looked to her to see if she changed her mind. She was staring intently. He pushed his pants down and rolled back his underwear, sighing when he was exposed. Her breath hitched and her eyebrows rose.

"Definitely bigger than the one in the health book," she mumbled, reaching out to touch it. He stopped her.

"You shouldn't."

"Oh. Right."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry the updates are so slow on this story. I'll try to do better. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Mercedes used to swear that she'd never go to a football game at her school, but sitting on the cold bleachers on the visitor's side of the field with the rest of the colored folks in attendance, she realized how times had changed. She kept her eyes focused on the game, but she still felt the glares of some still-bitter whites burning into her back. It was something she should have been used to, but she never thought she'd get to that point. Being hated for something so simple would always confuse and scare her.<p>

"Mercedes Jones." She snapped her eyes away from the football team and looked up to see that Ms. Corcoran had come over to their area of the bleachers.

"Ms. Corcoran…"

"Call me Shelby, we're not in class," she said, waving it off and sitting down beside her.

"Okay well, no offense, but what are you doing over here?" Mercedes asked.

"I assumed it'd be better company," Shelby replied with a shrug. As if on cue, one of the fathers sitting on the home side of the field began screaming obscenities and ranting about how they wouldn't be losing if it weren't for those damn—

"I can see that," she said, looking away and trying not to focus on the man's words. There were now two colored boys on the team and no one would admit that they were actually doing slightly _better_ with them.

"So why are you here? You didn't strike me as a football fan," the older woman asked. Mercedes bit her lip and glanced at Sam, who was now sitting on the bench after playing the whole first half. He'd already been staring over at her with a grin on his face, obviously elated she finally came to a game to see him play.

"I'm not…I just didn't have anything to do," she explained.

"I guess that's a reason," Shelby said, smiling.

When the game ended, Mercedes stayed seated until even the coaches were gone and the lights had shut off. She was actually terrified to be alone, in the dark, and in the South, but she tried not to think about it. She was tough and she repeated this fact to herself.

When she felt enough time had passed, she went to the parking lot and smiled when she saw his car sitting under the light. She hurried over and knocked on the passenger window. He reached over and unlocked it so she could pull it open before she got in.

"I think you waited a lot longer than you had to," he told her, smirking.

"Better safe than sorry. How does it look if someone like me is sneaking around the football field late at night when she's supposed to be at her friend's house? It spells trouble, Sam."

"At least you're here now," he replied, reaching over to grab her hand.

"Yeah. I am," she said, smiling down at his hand.

"I wish I could take you out more," he complained after a few moments of silence. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him. He was staring at the dashboard biting his lip and she sighed.

"You don't have to. I'm not really into all that stuff anyway."

"I want the _option_, Mercedes. I want to take you to the cinema or a fancy dinner and have to listen to you tell me over and over how you're not really into that stuff, the whole while with a little smile on your face. Like a real couple," he told her, squeezing her hand.

"We are a real couple. Realer than most in our school, anyway. We're not just for show." He cracked a smile at that and nodded, leaning over the middle to softly kiss her lips.

"You're right. But it would be nice to show you off," he whispered.

"You wouldn't get the reaction you're thinking of," she responded. "They'd laugh or throw things or worse…"

"Yeah? Well we'll just have to stay together until people aren't idiots anymore. Even if it's one hundred years from now."

Mercedes bit her lip and furrowed her eyebrows. Sam's hand was on her cheek and he was still leaning across the middle, his face not far from hers. He was smiling as if he didn't realize the intensity of his statement. They'd been going out for a minute and he was acting as if nothing stood in their way and he planned to spend his life with her. She liked that he felt so strongly about things…about_ her_, but it was also a little strange. He was a little strange.

"Penny for your thoughts, beautiful?"

"Nothing. Just…hopefully it doesn't take one hundred years," she replied.

Later that night, after sitting in the empty school parking lot talking about anything and everything, Sam took her home. She argued and told him she could just walk, but it was dark and in his opinion, driving with her in the car would be less dangerous than her walking home alone. 'There are sick people in this town, Mercedes,' he told her, waving a hand at her protests until she broke down and gave him directions. She figured she could always duck if another car passed.

"I like your house," he said when they arrived.

"It looked like every other house on this block," she replied, rolling her eyes. She reached for the door handle, but he beat her to it, pulling her hand away and touching her face so she could face him.

"No kiss goodnight?" he asked, grinning. She rolled her eyes again at his antics and leaned over to press her lips against his. He responded eagerly, taking in her bottom lip and nibbling on it, causing her to smile into the kiss. She began to pull away and he followed her, deepening it.

"Sam…" When she spoke, he gave her small pecks to tempt her to move back in closer to him.

"What? No 'congratulations on the game' kiss?"

"You lost," she retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean for effort," he amended, grinning sheepishly.

"I have to go, Sam."

"One more."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she sighed dramatically and leaned in to kiss him again. He let her go after this one, watching her go inside and biting his lip. She turned and waved once more before going into the house.

He drove off, turning on the radio and failing to notice the little boy staring down through the curtains of the second floor.

* * *

><p>Chris was having a major inner struggle. The night before, when he saw his sister kissing a white boy in a nice car, it completely baffled him. White boys were the reason he hated going to school. They'd jeer at him on the sidewalk and the bus, reminding him of what he was worth to them and how they'd like it better if her were dead, and his sister was <em>necking with one<em>. It didn't make any sense. White folks were the reason for his unhappiness and he thought possibly Mercedes wasn't in her right mind.

So when the opportunity to make sure she remembered what _they _were like presented itself, he was uncharacteristically grateful. On the way to the bus stop, he'd been ambushed and sucker punched by a few white boys his age, resulting in a black eye and a busted lip. It hurt, and he went home with tears in his eyes, but at the moment as he watched his father pacing angrily in the kitchen, his mama pressing a wet cloth to his eye and Mercedes clenching her fists at the table in front of him, he realized how easy it would be for him to take care of what he saw the night prior. He only saw the boy she was with briefly, but he'd do his best.

"Hateful…just hateful…" his mother murmured as she dabbed his face.

"It hurts, Mama," he said, milking it. Mercedes's expression hardened. She hated seeing her little brother this way.

"Whoever did this to you can go straight to hell," she scowled, glaring at his busted lip.

"Mercy. Language," her father scolded. She sighed and clenched her fists more.

"Who did it?" she asked.

"Why? What are you going to do about it?" her mother intercepted, raising an eyebrow.

"I just want to know," she said, sighing. Chris looked between him and took a deep breath, hoping he was a convincing liar because it was necessary. He rarely told tales.

"It was…a high schooler," he said, gulping. Mercedes's eyes bulged and he went on. "He just attacked me. Pulled his…blue convertible up on the sidewalk and hopped out, calling me names and punching me in the face. When I didn't fight back, he laughed and spat on me then got back in the car with his friends. It was so random, Mama…"

Their mother shook her head stopped dabbing his face, pulling him closer to her so his head rested on her bosom and muttering 'poor baby' over and over. Mercedes looked uneasy.

"Blue convertible?"

"Yeah. He was tall and blond with big scary hands. His car had those tires with the white stripe on 'em," he added, glancing at her to gage a reaction.

She was staring at the table with her eyebrows furrowed.

"Did he have big lips and a letterman jacket?" she asked.

"Yeah! Yeah, he did! And his friends called him…" Chris paused to pretend like he was trying to remember.

"Sammy?" Mercedes supplied, taking the bait.

"Yes! Do you…do you know him?" he asked her. He could see the hurt in her eyes and almost took it back, but he knew what he was doing was right for her. For them.

"Not really. I have a class with him," she answered quietly.

"You still have that pepper spray, right Baby Girl?" her father asked. She nodded and stood from the table, going to her room without another word.


End file.
